


Negotiating Fate

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-01 05:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The many reincarnations of Hades and Persephone haven't fallen in love with each other in almost a thousand years. Their modern-day counterparts are most definitely not interested in breaking that streak. Going into business together shouldn’t complicate things too much, right?





	1. Chapter 1

It's summertime in the quaint logging town of Mount Weather, Virginia, which is secretly Clarke Griffin's favourite time of year. She knows logically that it should be spring, considering she is the latest reincarnation of the Goddess of Spring after all, but she just can't help it. When summer comes around each year, it means that she's done her divine job properly and she can just sit back in the sunshine and enjoy the benefits of all her hard work, sometimes even with a margarita in her hand if she's lucky, too.

But for as far as relaxation goes, that's about all Clarke allows herself. She knows that some of her divine predecessors used to take the entire remaining three seasons as self-indulgent vacation time, however Clarke is the kind of goddess that likes to keep busy. That's why, when she moved to Mount Weather a little over three years ago, she decided to open a flower shop called Barley and Bloom, and then not long afterwards she turned the back room of the shop into a makeshift apothecary to serve the other mythical inhabitants of the town as well.

Some days are longer than others, like when she was up before dawn most mornings in early February so that she could grow enough red roses to meet demands for Eros's Day, or how when a fight broke out in the town park between two neighbouring gangs of nymphs she was so busy tending to their wounds (as well as chastising them at the same time) that she didn't even sleep for over twenty-four hours.

So, as much as part of her would rather be sunbathing in her jungle of a backyard with an alcoholic beverage in hand, instead she finds herself working hard as per usual. This time, however, she's busy fixing up a foul-mouthed demigod with a penchant for self-destructive behaviour.

"This is the third time this month, Murphy! You can't keep getting into drunken brawls with centaurs and expect me to patch you up every time," Clarke huffs frustratedly, not looking up from where she's applying a herbal poultice to an angry, jagged wound on his shoulder. To add extra weight to her words, she presses down a little more than necessary and he winces. She ignores the dark scowl that this earns from him, continuing to lecture the young demigod instead. "Aren't their pointy horns enough of a deterrent for you? Or are you just determined to fight anyone you cross paths with?"

They're in the back room of her flower shop, with John Murphy perched on a crooked wooden stool while Clarke cuts a strip of bandage to length. The workbenches behind them are cluttered with stacks of books, potted plants and vials of medicinal concoctions, with dozens of miscellaneous first aid supplies strewn amongst them. Clarke wouldn't say that she's messy by nature, but the past few days have been busier than usual and she hasn't had a chance to tidy things up yet. Thankfully, the front room of the shop is still just about organised enough to be considered a florist's and not an indoor compost heap, which is the part of the shop that's important to her pride anyway, considering that, as the Goddess of Spring, flowers are technically her speciality.

"He did this with a switchblade, actually," Murphy adds unhelpfully. "Their stupid antlers couldn't cut through butter."

"Gods, why did you think it was a good idea to fight someone with horns _and_ a switchblade?!"

"Look, maybe I'm just feeling a little masochistic as of late," Murphy bites back, then winces once again as Clarke begins to tightly bind the injury. "What can I say, getting dumped will kind of fuck you up like that."

They exchange a look and Clarke's resolve softens a little. It was pretty common knowledge in Mount Weather that Murphy hadn't taken his recent break up with a human called Emori well, which was to be expected, considering Clarke was certain she'd been the first person he had ever truly loved in all his lifetimes. So yeah, it sucked that Emori had moved across the country for her dream job, but that was just the way humans were, and it was a mundane luxury that people like herself and Murphy would simply never have.

The stronghold of Mount Olympus was now unfortunately, quite literally, ancient history, and places like Mount Weather had become the only real safe havens left on Earth for divine and mythical beings such as themselves. Sure, humans did live amongst them too, but the beauty of Mount Weather was that it's magic was still strong enough to ensure that any mortal inhabitants remained blissfully unaware of the living legends residing next door to them.

"All done," she announces as she ties the ends of the cloth together, stepping back to quickly check over her handy work before gesturing that he can get up. "You know, I'm thinking of running some flower arrangement classes for the locals. Seeing as you're here so often, I'll give you a friend's discount if you come along."

"There's no way in hell I'd ever go to something like that."

"Really? I happen to think a peaceful hobby could do that temper of yours the world of good, Murphy," she teases, smirking at him as she tidies away the supplies she'd been using.

The demigod lets out a painful groan as he pulls his shirt back over his head before responding with, "Go fuck yourself, Clarke."

She ignores him completely, taking the time to scrub her hands and nails clean before following him back out into the shopfront. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that the flowers in one of the buckets of white lilies are drooping, and with a simple flick of her wrist she restores them to health. Being a goddess sure does have it's perks sometimes. Pleasantly satisfied, she turns her attention back to her friend, only to find him glaring pointedly at her window display of sunflowers.

"They were her favourites," he says, explaining what Clarke already knows. He used to come in every week without fail to buy her a fresh bouquet. "Now every time I see those fucking flowers I want to set them all on fire."

"Please don't," Clarke sighs, lightly putting her arm around his uninjured shoulder. "I doubt my insurance company will cover heartbreak-motivated arson."

"Your insurance company sounds like it sucks,"

"Tell me about it," she huffs, giving him a quick squeeze on the arm before removing her limb from around him. It's only then that Clarke finally thinks to glance up at the gilded wall clock above the counter, cursing under her breath when she realises she's lost track of time.

She ignores Murphy's continued rant about how love is nothing but bullshit and digs out a portfolio from underneath the clutter on the countertop, making a mental note that she really does need to clean up in here as soon as she gets a chance to. She flicks through the folder quickly, making sure everything she needs is still there, and then shoves it into her pastel pink satchel, alongside her cell phone and keys.

"Sick of me already?" Murphy asks indignantly as she begins to usher him out the front door.

"Not at all! Sorry, I just realised that I'm running late for a meeting across the street," she explains hurriedly, following him out onto the sidewalk, the shop door slamming noisily behind her. Suddenly apprehensive, she turns to appraise the building opposite them with only slightly veiled disdain.

Murphy looks at Clarke for a long moment, incredulous, and then follows her gaze to the Blake's funeral parlour across the street. He can barely contains his amusement as he says, "_You_ have a meeting with _Bellamy_?"

"Gods, no! I'm meeting with his sister," Clarke amends, shooting him a quick glare as she hesitantly begins to cross the street. "Wish me luck, Murphy."

Either he doesn't actually bother to wish her luck or she doesn't hear him over the bustle of traffic and shoppers, but before she knows it Clarke is sat in the airless waiting room of the funeral parlour. She's never actually been inside the building before, having never had a reason too until now, and despite her nerves she can't help but take in her surroundings. The decor is timeless and subtle, and the antique armchair she's taken a seat in has a homely kind of comfort about it.

The receptionist, a pretty nymph called Bree that she's seen around town plenty of times before, seems to be doing her very best to pretend that Clarke isn't in the room with her. For her part, Clarke doesn't bother trying to make conversation either whilst she waits. The minutes stretch on, long and silent and a little tense.

She hears a door to her right open and swings round in the large armchair, ready to greet Octavia Blake with a smile and an apology for turning up late, but instead the words choke in her throat as she almost slips off of her seat completely.

"Thanks for finally making time for us, Clarke," the God of the Underworld says with a slow smirk. "I did wonder if you'd even bother turning up. Shall we sit down in my office?"

Clarke stands, clearing her throat and smoothing down her dress. When she speaks, she can barely look him in the eye, "I'm actually meant to be meeting Octavia-"

"My sister had to take an important call. She'll be with us as soon as she can,"

"I'd rather wait for her out here," Clarke protests firmly, readying herself for the ensuing fight to come.

She and Bellamy pretty much _always_ argued. It was no secret to anyone in town that she didn't like him, or what he _did_, and as far as she could tell Bellamy actively disliked her too. Her friends sometimes joked, much to her mortification, that one day their fighting would somehow turn into fucking. _There's a thin line between love and hate_, Harper would tease as the rest of their group erupted into laughter, but thankfully Clarke knew differently.

The reincarnations of Hades and Persephone hadn't fallen in love in close to a millenium. She and Bellamy were, most definitely, not interested in breaking that streak. Not now, not ever.

"And I'd rather not waste any more of my day," he snaps back, almost exasperated already. "Please, for the love of the Gods, just come in and take a seat."

Clarke opens her mouth to argue, but remembers why she's here in the first place and begrudgingly relents. Instead, she follows him into his office, actively ignoring the glare Bree is aiming at the back of her head. Bellamy's office is, almost strangely, even more homely than the waiting room, with almost a dozen full bookcases and a lit fireplace on the wall adjacent to the door. She can't help but frown at the crackling hearth.

"You do realise it's the middle of July, right?"

"My phone does have a calendar, thanks," Bellamy says, glaring at her as he lays out paperwork in front of them.

"What are you, reptilian? Who lights a fire in July?"

"I _knew_ this was a bad idea," Bellamy groans, "And did you really just refer to me as a reptile?"

"No, I said _reptilian_. It means reptile-like," Clarke replies matter-of-factly.

"It's funny you should say that, I thought cold-blooded men were your type?"

Bellamy sits back, looking appropriately smug. She knows that he's taking a dig about the whole Finn fiasco that blew up a while back. There are really no secrets in Mount Weather. Clarke splutters for a second, sufficiently riled up despite having started this particular back-and-forth in the first place, and she's just about to start spewing obscenities at him when Octavia enters the room, frowning grimly at the pair of them.

"I see you two have been exchanging pleasantries," the brunette says, slumping down in the seat next to Clarke. She appraises them both like a school teacher admonishing misbehaving students. "So, I take it the business deal is off then?"

The siblings both turn to look at Clarke, waiting for her to decide. Damn it, she really wants to just throw it all in and leave, but she _can't_. She probably needs this partnership way more than they do.

"No," she finally concedes, "I'm still willing to go ahead."

"Well, let's get started then," Octavia says, enthusiastic but not bothering to mask her surprise.

They go through the Blake's paperwork, discuss the projected business profits and losses of the proposed joint venture, and Clarke shows them the range of flower arrangements she's come up with. Octavia _oohs_ and _ahhs_ admiringly at her ideas, whilst Bellamy stays uncharacteristically quiet as he inspects Clarke's sketches of possible wreaths and bouquets. It goes without saying, anyway, that regardless of whatever Clarke designs, her flowers will without a doubt be fresher and more beautiful than anything else they can get. Even Bellamy can't argue with that.

The meeting goes on for a good hour, and surprisingly Bellamy and Clarke mostly refrain from taking shots at one another whenever the opportunity to arises, and at the end of it the three of them sign a business contract that the funeral parlour will work in solely partnership with Bloom and Barley, using Clarke's flowers for all their funerals and splitting a percentage of the profits with her.

Octavia hugs Clarke excitedly once they're all finished up, saying, "I can already tell this is going to be the start of something great. We should get drinks to celebrate, right?!"

She looks at Clarke for confirmation, who in turns looks at Bellamy, who looks wholly displeased at very the idea of _going for drinks_ with the Goddess of Spring.

"I've got plans with Bree," he offers up lamely, "but by all means, you two go ahead. Have a drink for me."

"Whatever," Octavia says, turning her attention back to the blonde. "So, meet at nine at Nightblood?"

"Sure," Clarke tells her, "See you at nine."

"Awesome! I'll see you later then,"

Octavia hugs both of them separately, then heads out of the office and back to whatever work she was doing beforehand. Clarke's about to follow suit, when just as she makes her way to the door she feels Bellamy's hand on her elbow.

"Hey, can you keep an eye on my sister tonight?" He asks, his voice low. "Please?" 

Clarke blinks at him. "Of course I will."

"Thank you," Bellamy says gruffly, like it costs him something to say those particular words to her. "You know, I really do hope this partnership is successful."

"Me too,"

For a moment neither of them say anything else, they just simply stand there, Bellamy's tentative hand on her arm and their momentary truce somehow anchoring the two of them together. It's a little weird, seeing as she's certain they've never actually touched before, but it's surprisingly not uncomfortable either. But then Bree noisily drops something out in the waiting room and Bellamy seems to remember himself, letting go of her and stepping back.

"I better get back to the shop," she tells him and he just nods, returning to his seat behind the desk.

Clarke makes her way back out onto Main Street, a little dazed and overwhelmed. She still can't quite believe that she's just willingly entered into a business contract with the God of the Underworld. All she can do now is hope that they can avoid killing each other long enough for this to pay off.

Murphy is definitely going to get a kick out of this when he finds out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for all the positive feedback I received for the first chapter - I was seriously overwhelmed. I am also mortified it's taken me so long to update this, but life has just been curveball after curveball recently. Oh well. Anyway, I'm glad I've finally got something I'm mostly happy with to post for you guys. Please let me know what you think so far, and I promise to not leave it so long until the next chapter!

Nightblood is already busy by the time Clarke arrives a little after nine o'clock. It's one of only three bars in town and is the least frequented by humans, due to it's wicked reputation for bar fights and unruly behaviour. It also happens to be Octavia Blake's favourite haunt.

"I hope Bell wasn't too much of a dick today," she tells Clarke, sipping heartily on her third vodka and tonic. "I mean, I don't even like him some of the time and he's my brother."

"It's okay, really. I kind of started it this time anyway," the blonde admits.

"Well, you know what he's like; if he doesn't get to start the fight then he'll definitely finish it," Octavia laughs.

Clarke feels the need to iterate that she doesn't know Bellamy - not really, anyway - but it seems like a mute point. Octavia has already moved on from the topic of her brother anyway, currently gushing about one of the guys who works security on the door instead. Clarke learns his name is Lincoln, that he's a human, like Octavia, and that she's crushing on him big time.

"I'm here like three days a week and he still acts so damn stony when I try to make conversation," she continues, cleanly finishing off her drink and tugging Clarke towards the bar to get another round in, "but I can just tell he likes me. I mean - come on, what's not to like?"

"He'd be an idiot not to like you,"

"Exactly! I think tonight's the night I'm going to make a move. You only live once, right?" As she says this she seems to remember whom she's talking to and snorts. "Well, us humans only live once, anyway. I guess you and Bell got lucky in that respect."

"Hey, reincarnation isn't all it's cracked up to be! It's not like I get any of the previous Goddesses' memories and it means I'm not technically immortal. I won't be me in the next life," Clarke says all this with a slight grimace. It's a reality she doesn't like thinking about too often.

"Well, when you put it that way it does sound like it kind of sucks," Octavia agrees thoughtfully, paying for their drinks and passing Clarke a margarita. "I didn't know that you didn't have any memories. I don't know if Bellamy - well, he doesn't talk to me about that kind of stuff. I guess it's probably the same for him."

For some inexplicable reason, this piques Clarke's interest. It's pretty much the accepted norm that gods and goddesses usually have little to no recollection of their predecessors, however very rarely someone comes along who does remember. She'd never before wondered what it was like for Bellamy. Did he remember the lives of any of the Unseen Ones who came before him? Did he remember _her_?

"Well, if it isn't two of my favourite ladies!" Raven Reyes interrupts, grinning as she approaches them with a dark cocktail in hand. The Smithing Goddess raises an eyebrow at Clarke, "Slumming it at Nightblood with the rest of us delinquents, huh? Did you get body-snatched or something?"

"I invited her," Octavia explained, pulling the other brunette in for an affectionate hug. "And I'm planning on getting her very drunk. We're celebrating."

"I'm not getting drunk tonight," Clarke argues.

Raven snorts. "Famous last words, Griffin. What are you two celebrating then?"

"Clarke's going to be working with the funeral parlour," Octavia announces excitedly.

"Seriously?" Raven's gaze turns on Clarke, disbelief written all over her beautiful features. "You're really going to be working with Bellamy?"

Clarke groans. "Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this? It's just business!"

"Just business, huh? I give it less than two weeks before you're tearing each other's clothes off,"

"Ew, Raven!" Octavia practically shrieks, "That's my big brother you're talking about!"

"What I'm talking about, Octavia, is the fact that Hades and Persephone are finally starting to mend bridges," Raven says, smirking as she waggles as her eyebrows at Clarke suggestively, "It's only been - what? Like a whole millennium since you guys have boned?"

"We've never boned!"

"Gods, I hope not," Octavia adds, squirming in disgust. "Can we please change the topic? I'd rather puke from alcohol tonight, not the idea of my big brother doing that."

"Fine. You two are such children," Raven laughs. "But I mean, seriously, when was the last time you got laid, Clarke?"

Clarke downs the rest of her drink quickly. She doesn't want to say Finn, because that will mostly likely send the conversation spiralling into even more of a mess, but being put on the spot has caused her mind to go blank. Maybe it really has been quite a while.

"Niylah," she finally offers up, although she's not sure if a few make-out sessions and drunken trysts really count as anything substantial. "You know, the cute naiad that works at the bakery on Fourth Street. We went on a few dates."

"And how long ago was that exactly?"

The interrogation continues, with Clarke practically drinking her bodyweight in tequila to quell her embarrassment, before Raven and Octavia finally come to the conclusion that their friend is definitely, pathetically, going through a dry spell.

By the time last orders are called, Raven's busy winning a game of darts against a group of nymphs on the other side of the bar and Octavia is frowning down at her phone.

"The alarm at the funeral parlour is going off," she tells Clarke. "I can't get a hold of Bell either."

"What, no cell reception in the Underworld?"

"Nope. Looks like I'm going to have to head back and check it out,"

"Hey, I'll come with you. It might be serious."

"Thanks for the offer, Clarke, but I can handle it," Octavia replies distractedly. She stands from the booth and tugs on her leather jacket, turning to flash a reassuring smile at Clarke. "No offence, but you're not exactly going to intimidate any burglars in that pink playsuit you're wearing."

"It's peach, actually," the blonde huffs, but she isn't really offended. She knows that what Octavia lacks in mythical powers, she makes up for in a brown belt in karate and several years of kick-boxing training. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah, of course. It's probably nothing. I'll text you when I get home,"

The brunette gives her a short hug goodbye then quickly makes her way towards the exit. Clarke looks over to see where Raven's gotten to, but finds that the other goddess has disappeared - along with one of the particularly good-looking nymphs she'd been hanging out with before. With a sigh, she decides to call it a night. By the time she gets into a cab she's already dreading the hangover that's bound to await her the next morning.

* * *

It goes without saying that Clarke spends Saturday morning lazing on her couch, her head throbbing and stomach churning as she regrets every cocktail she drank the night before. She tries to pull herself together to shower and get ready for work, but only manages to make it to the bathroom to throw up several times before heading back to bed. She's quite content to write-off the rest of the day altogether, until Murphy pounds on her door sometime in the afternoon and demands to know why Bloom and Barley is closed.

"I think I need stitches," he tells her sheepishly once she lets him into her house. "No fights this time, I promise. The wound just opened up again by itself."

She glares it at him dubiously. The last thing her queasy stomach needs right now is for her to patch up Murphy's bloody wound again, but she quickly relents when she sees the patch of crimson seeping through his t-shirt. "Ugh, fine. Follow me to the kitchen."

"You look like dog shit warmed up, by the way," he adds, unhelpfully, as he does as he told and trails behind her down the hall. "Speaking of which, did you know there's an actual dog hanging around outside in your yard?"

"What?"

"No joke. Big, scary, mean-looking thing. Probably a stray or something,"

"I didn't think you were the kind of guy to be scared of a dog," she chuckles despite herself, pulling out the first aid box she keeps under the sink before gesturing for Murphy to take a seat at the breakfast table behind her. "Take your top off," she orders.

"I'm not scared of dogs," he affirms, the glare suddenly dropping off his face as he eyes the needle she's suddenly holding up. "But I am scared of those. Go gentle on me?"

She does not go gentle on him.

Afterwards, he's sitting grumpily on Clarke's couch looking through a stack of takeout menus, whilst Clarke peers through the blinds at her front yard. He wasn't lying - there definitely is a big, mean-looking, scary dog in her front yard. She watches curiously as the gigantic animal just lays there, sleeping happily beside her rose-beds, and she tries to think if there's a local animal charity that she could take it to. Maybe, if it's friendly, she could even keep it.

"Do you think I should put some food out for it? I've never had a dog before."

"If you buy me Chinese food then you can give it anything left over," Murphy suggests, earning a glare over the shoulder from Clarke.

"I'm not buying you shit," she says, leaving the window to flop down beside him on the couch. "I'm practically broke, you know."

"I thought your parents were disgustingly rich,"

Clarke cringes. "My mom is rich, but I stopped accepting her money a while ago," as she says this, Murphy raises an eyebrow at her in disbelief. "I'm an adult - a Goddess! I've got my own business and my own house. I can't just go crying to my mom every time I pay a bill late."

"I fucking would if I were you," he says.

"Shut up, Murphy."

"So, what - going into business with the God of the Underworld was a better solution than just asking your mom for a loan?"

"It's going to be good for the shop," she tells him, which is exactly what she's also been telling herself over and over since she signed the damn contract twenty-four hours ago. Even if she weren't having financial troubles, she honestly still would've considered the partnership with the funeral parlour - Octavia had been coming to her for months now, asking for flower arrangements for numerous funerals, and working together officially just made sense. Bellamy was barely even involved in all this, and she could only hope that it stayed that way for the sake of her own blood pressure. "This whole thing is not about me and Bellamy."

"Aww, you just said _me and Bellamy_," Murphy deadpans with a smirk.

Clarke huffs, punching him in the leg frustratedly. But Murphy just laughs at her, mouthing the word weakling underneath his breath as he turns his attention back to the menus spread out on her coffee table. "So," he says, serious now, "You've got the hangover from hell and I'm starving, which means I'm going to order takeout whether you like it or not. I'll get this one and you pay for the food next time, deal?"

"On one condition,"

He rolls his eyes, already keying in the number to a restaurant on his phone. "What?"

"We get the mean-looking dog I'm going to adopt some food, too."

* * *

The next few weeks go by quickly. Clarke's kept busy nearly every day, with several funerals to make up arrangements for as well as the general day-to-day running of Barley and Bloom to see to, and Octavia stops by a few times too, either to check in on deadlines or just simply with lunch for the two of them to share from the diner down the street. Murphy only comes by once, and that's just to get his stitches taken out, and she's quietly thankful he's managing to keep out of trouble for the time-being.

She's also pretty thankful that she hasn't had to deal with Bellamy so far either, learning from Octavia that his divine work seems to, unsurprisingly, keep him preoccupied most of the time and that he pretty much just presides over the parlour in name only. Octavia runs the show, whereas her brother plays his morbid part behind the scenes, and Clarke is slowly coming to grips with her new role of making it all look pretty.

It's late on a Monday afternoon when Clarke finally finds a couple of spare hours to close up shop and do one of her favourite things instead - delivering flowers to the local paediatric hospital. She had grown up with a human mother who worked as a doctor back in the city and Clarke was comfortable in most medical environments, but it wasn't until she had moved to Mount Weather that she'd learned that some of the previous Goddesses of Spring had been known for sharing their gifts with poorly children. Now she finds that being able to share her gift to brighten a little kid's day is fulfilling in a way that profiting off of it financially isn't - it's just unfortunate that she can't simply make a living that way. But she still manages to visit the hospital often enough that the staff and even some patients know her well by now, and the attendants in the post-operative ward greet her warmly when she arrives.

"Busy weekend?" Indra, the head nurse on duty, asks conversationally as she hands Clarke the visiting log to fill in.

"You know I'm a workaholic," Clarke says as she scribbles down her information, then lifts her head to smile at the older woman. "How was yours? Has Gaia finally been home to visit?"

"She has indeed. I know she enjoys going to college in the city, but I just love it when she comes home to visit," Indra tells her. She's a no-nonsense kind of woman, hardy and admittedly a little intimidating, but Clarke knows that whenever someone brings up her daughter it makes the woman's dark eyes twinkle with affection. Clarke likes Indra best when she gets that look in her eyes. "We made a cobbler together. I think there's still some in the staffroom if you want to help yourself to some before you go."

"That sounds amazing, thank you,"

Clarke hands the clipboard back to her and sets her basket down on one of the chairs in the foyer. She sorts through bunches she's put to one side, each one specially made for the patients she's gotten to know well over the past few weeks: white and yellow daffodils for Aiden Woods (who definitely does like flowers but also likes to pretend that he doesn't), pink roses for Roma Bragg, peonies for Reese Lemkin, and wildflowers for Charlotte Smith. The remaining assortments in the basket are for any new patients on the ward that she hasn't met yet, but out of habit she'll get to those rooms last so that she can first check in on the kids that she's befriended.

Aiden crinkles his nose at the sight of the daffodils when she walks in. They talk for a little while, about how his recovery from heart surgery is going and what manga he's currently reading this week. When she leaves to continue her rounds, she pretends she doesn't catch him thoughtfully touching the flowers she's placed on his bedside table. Roma is overjoyed to receive her latest bouquet and tells Clarke all about a new web series she's become obsessed with, specifically the cute lead teen actor in it. Reese is having bloods taken when Clarke enters her room, but her father, Tor, thanks Clarke for the peonies and she promises to stop by again before she leaves.

The moment she steps into Charlotte's room though, Clarke's feet falter underneath her and she almost drops the bunch of wildflowers onto the clinical linoleum floor.

The young girl, pale and thin, is sleeping soundly in her hospital bed. Beside her, Bellamy sits at her bedside, a pained look etched across his striking features. He looks up at Clarke but doesn't say anything, and her heart shatters inside her chest as she realises there's only one horrible reason why he would be here today.

"No," is the first thing out of Clarke's mouth, "Not Charlotte. Please, Bellamy, you can't-"

"I have as little say in this as you do, Clarke," he replies quietly. "It's what the Fates have decided."

"But she only just had her liver transplant a week ago! She's meant to get better now that she's had the op. Her parents are supposed to be taking her home next week!"

He exhales, almost like it hurts, like he's carrying the weight of the world is on his shoulders and his strength is waning. Clarke's eyes bore into his pleadingly, but he turns away from her and says, "I have to do this. It's her time."

"No, please, no... she... she's so young,"

But there really is nothing either of them can do go stop the inevitable. Charlotte's parents will never be able to take their daughter home. Clarke sadly knows that once the Fates decide that it's somebody's time to go then that's it. But she hates it, she hates that it has to be Charlotte's time, and she hates Bellamy for having anything to do with it at all.

Clarke knows that any further argument she makes will be useless, so instead she takes a deep breath and makes her way over the vase on the bedside table. Bellamy watches her in silence as she fills the vase up at the sink before arranging the wildflowers perfectly and setting the small bouquet back on the tabletop next to Charlotte. She sits down in the free chair on the other side of the bed and takes Charlotte's small, clammy hand firmly in her own.

"You don't have to be here for this," Bellamy murmurs, but Clarke shakes her head.

"Yes, I do."

In the last moments of Charlotte's life, Clarke smooths her hair away from her face and softly hums a lullaby to her. Bellamy rests a steady hand on the girl's shoulder and closes his eyes. Clarke does the same, watery eyes fluttering shut as she prepares herself for the little girl to pass. For a second, nothing feels different at all, and then suddenly an unnatural breeze passes through the room and Clarke knows that she's gone.

When Clarke opens her eyes again, unable to stop a few tears from escaping, she finds that she's alone in the room. She fights back the sobs building in her throat and lays Charlotte's hand gently back down on the bed so that can she reach for the nurse's buzzer. After that, things happen in a blur; Indra and one of the other nurses on duty come into the room and Clarke slips quietly out the door behind them. She doesn't bother to pick up her basket or stop by Reese's room again as she makes her way out of the building.

It's only once she's in the safety of her car down in the parking lot that Clarke lets it all out, sobbing loudly and heart-wrenchingly as she grips the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. Around her, briars and thorns grow wildly and quickly fill the inside of her old Civic, violently piercing through the leather upholstery of her passenger seat.

She barely notices any of it happening around her though because, for the first time in a long time, Clarke feels completely, utterly, heartbreakingly powerless.

**Author's Note:**

> First time I've posted something on here in a long time. I thought I'd test the waters with this to start off with and see what people think. I'm a sucker for Greek Mythology AUs, but my knowledge of Greek Mythology itself isn't that fantastic so please let me know if I've messed anything up.


End file.
